The Thousands Place
by Xinette
Summary: In a soulmate AU where people don't age until they meet their soulmate, Misa Amane knows there is no One for her. But the funny thing was that Misa never felt lonely.


**A/N:** This is fanfic of the fanfic emand indeed there will be time/em. It is a soulmate AU, wherein people stop aging at eighteen and don't start again until they meet their soulmate, which is symbolized by them acquiring a grey hair. It has been published on AO3 about L and Light falling in love during the Yotsuba arc.

"The Thousands Place"

Misa has never been old. Nor has she ever been young. Instead, she simply exists.

She doesn't bother to count the years. In reality, she is older than them. Misa remembers back when they were only seasons, when mankind kept its eyes focused on the stars to know what was to come. And when the seasons dictated what animals would be out to hunt and what berries they could gather.

The world had been vast back then. Misa hadn't quite realized that until she decided to explore it. It had started small, jut with a trip to the mainland. And then Misa had kept walking and walking and walking until people stared at her almond-shaped eyes and light skin.

During that time, she'd met many people. Most of them had shocks of grey in their hair, one arm wrapped around their One. But every once in a while, she would meet someone like her. A quasi-immortal. They always wanted to get to know her, to share stories about what the old days were like.

In the beginning, she'd oblige them. Then, she grew tired of watching shock settle into their features as she recounted stories about fire, caves and watching the constellations. Soon enough, she learned that people had no real interest in hearing her stories. They only wanted solidarity. To know that they weren't alone in their loneliness.

But the funny thing was that Misa never felt lonely.

There were enough men and women to keep her occupied. Sometimes, she would convince the person she was seeing that she was their soulmate. Rarely, she would even convince herself. But they always left when they didn't see the telltale grey in their hair. Some of them took longer than others. A few even whispered things into her ear, about staying young and together forever. But even those left eventually.

Misa ran into one of them, years later, in a village she wasn't expecting to be in. He had aged in a lovely way, one that reminisced of his younger self. They had only met eyes for a moment, but it was enough. The loneliness had fled him, and he did not fear mortality.

Whenever people were reunited with their Ones—and that was how Misa liked having it explained to her, like two pieces of a soul, together at last—they always seemed to have that same look in their eyes. It was the reason why Misa never supported that movement. She wasn't sure what it had been called, or where it had been, but it was one of the ones that involved a small, red-faced man standing on a wooden stage in a public place going on and on and on about something.

In this case, it had been the Ones. He, or rather, they, as Misa was pretty sure there had been multiple hes, talked about how immortality was the natural state of humanity. The love they found with their Ones was only compensation for losing this.

Several quasi-immortals had supported them. They always started their portion of the speeches with their name, place of birth and age. It had taken forever for Misa to understand what those numbers meant—why people were impressed with a hundred, or four hundred, or seven hundred. None of the speakers had ever reached the thousands place.

They always talked about how happy they were, and how it wasn't lonely at all. Some of them seemed to even believe it.

But then, they all left, one by one as they found grey hairs in their head.

Soon enough the movement was no more, and the world started catching up to Misa. She remembered her initial shock when she'd arrived at a place, after several changes of constellation and season, to find that it had taken a ship no more than three months.

After the wooden ships, there were ships made of metal that billowed smoke. Then, there were land vehicles that did the same. Misa looked up to the sky, to see another piece of shiny metal doing the same.

And, slowly, the whole world was being encased in metal and glass. The sun reflected and shattered across a million different surfaces, until it seemed like every surface held its own piece.

When Misa compared her life now back to the days of fire and stars, she often caught herself thinking she was immortal. She knew that was a silly thing to believe. Everyone she had ever met, even, especially, the ones who thought themselves immortal found their soulmate eventually.

But, ultimately, there didn't seem to be One out there for Misa. She wasn't entirely sure when she'd come to that conclusion, or if she'd ever had hope in the first place.

She'd certainly given it up before the longest love affair she'd ever had.

He was tall, and fairly dark-skinned. Misa didn't quite remember where she was living at the time, or even what the time had been. All she knew was that she liked him. And so, she bought some grey hair dye, or maybe it had just been paint. It probably was actually because she had applied it to his hair with a brush while he was sleeping.

The first morning, he'd been overjoyed to finally find his One. That joy lasted for a few months, all the way up until he'd found the paint under the sink.

Misa believed he was the first person she'd killed.

She didn't remember the act itself, but his blood on the rugs of their room was something it would be hard to forget. And she remembered leaving town afterwards, realizing that, for once in her life, she was actually in danger. A life sentence could last for any number of changes in the guards.

Eventually, even that fear faded. She still killed sometimes, but always in a place and time where she couldn't get caught.

The notebook helped with that.

It simplified the killing, made it almost impossible for her to be caught. And, sure, the local news called her a murderer, but it didn't seem like she was doing anything any different than what happened to people anyway.

That was long after Misa was used to people talking about her. She'd always liked it when people had looked at her, and now it seemed like more and more people could do it in easier and easier ways. People loved an upbeat personality, and that was one she could do with ease.

So, she put on the clothes they told her to and smiled in the ways they told her to. She even dyed her hair—it was a nice change after so many seasons of brown. The harder part was deflecting questions about her age and One. No one could ever find a birth certificate for her, but she was told that wasn't that unusual. Plenty of them had been lost during the war.

Misa always nodded and made sure not to ask which war they were referring to.

She picked up the habit of referring to herself as Misa-Misa, something she'd heard someone else call themselves at some point. Misa might not have even been her real name. It was hard to tell—she'd been called so many things over the years, most of which could not be repeated in polite company. Misa Amane, she believed, was a name given to her, but it might have been given by herself.

And her fans. The love she received from them reminded her of the passive love so many other people had given her over the years. It was better though, because there was no expectation of continuing it. None but the crazies checked their hair after meeting her.

That was also how she'd met that detective. He'd thought he was immortal. Until, like everyone else, a grey hair appeared on his head. It perfectly matched the one on his suspect.

Misa felt happy for them. She knew them well enough to tell that they couldn't be happy for themselves.

That time period was interesting, but it ended too. The police wouldn't stop chasing her for as long as she kept killing people. They'd even come close to catching her a few times, which was something she couldn't afford. Besides, the notebook wasn't as interesting as it had been before.

So, she gave it up and returned to traveling the world. To meeting people. To fleeting love affairs. To killing, occasionally, always with her own hands.

And, sometimes, at night, she'd look up at the constellations and wonder how long it would be before she could wander amongst the stars.


End file.
